Who Painted the Roses Red?
by Alyssa Finnegan
Summary: Told from the point of view of the Queen of Hearts, the story tells another side of Wonderland and exploits a grave misunderstanding.


"Who's been painting my roses red?" I shrieked for perhaps then tenth time that morning, and the line of cards scrambled to bow at my feet. My hair streamed from its piled up mess on my head, black strands extending out to complete the crazy-bitch look perfectly. I do have to admit, it went quite well with the grey bags under my eyes and the straining veins on my neck. Everything seemed to pull away from me at that time, but it was to be expected. I wished I could escape from myself most times.

Things were going as usual; I was being the bitchy Queen of Hearts, while my husband sat in the background with his sorrowful little pout. The sadness expressed on his face was enough to make ravens cry, yet it was enough to gather bile in my mouth.

"It wasn't me, my Queen! It was the Knave of Hearts!"

I turned to the Knave, anger written in every pinched crevice of my face. "Knave?" I demanded.

"Not me! Not me! The Four!"

"The four of _what,_ you imbecile?"

The poor thing looked horror-stricken. "Spades! Spades! The Four of Spades!"

"-It was not I, my-"

"OFF WITH THEIR HEADS!"

Then it was over. Another set of cards condemned to death, another little guilty tick on my mind. Each day the same scene played again: first, I would find some petty reason to scream my head off, next send some poor innocent cards or creatures off to their deaths. The reason didn't ever matter, and sometimes it was even made up. I watched guiltily as the latest group was lead off to the guillotine.

"And what of the girl?" prodded my husband, gesturing with his scepter towards a collapsed clump of female flesh.

This was surprising to me, for it wasn't often a girl wandered into my kingdom. I hadn't even noticed her there with the others. I tried to avoid looking at whom I was sentencing to death; it made the whole process a little easier if I didn't know. Either way, my lack of attention caused me then to look at her fully. Putting my mask of fury on again, I turned to her.

"And who are you?"

"Alice, your highness."

" 'My Queen'," I corrected her, and then nodded towards our surroundings. "Why are you here? How did you get here?"

Before the blonde little thing could reply, my husband interjected.

"My dear, I believe she was innocent of the whole painting of the roses fiasco. Why not invite her to tea? It's so very rare to see a new face."

_Wonderful, now I have to sit down and chat with the doomed child_, I thought. I sighed, annoyed, and grudgingly turned to her.

"Fine. Dear, follow me and keep your head down. It's impolite to gawk."

I lead her along into the tea-room silently. I decided to discard my bitch-façade as we entered, figuring I had no one to pretend for anymore. Alice would find out soon enough who the real monster of Wonderland was. It was a shame, really, to have to go through with all of this. Having tea with this girl would only lend insight into this poor girl's life, thus leading me to experience an even more unbearable sadness when it came time for her death.

We seated ourselves in more silence. Thinking back, she was probably too terrified to say anything at all. After all, who wants to have tea with someone who just condemned innocent cards to death for something as meager as painting roses red? Time to drop the façade.

"Alice, my dear, you can call me whatever you feel. As remarkable as it may sound, I am not the horrid woman you just saw. Speak freely."

She stared blankly at me. It took some coaxing, but eventually Alice let loose and began to talk. Her golden little face began to brighten, and her lips formed smiles and opened to let loose strings of laughter. She began to tell me all about her travels, and her plans. I learned that she did not very much care for vanilla tea, but preferred strawberry. I learned that she was eighteen years of age, seven less than me, and that she had a great wisdom for one of that age. We got along easily, and quickly became friends (if you can even become friends in one afternoon), and this bonding led her to soon ask of my temper back in the garden.

"Temper? Hah! I have no temper," I told her mischievously. "My husband is a tyrant, you see, but he prefers to make me look like the villain so he can have the glory of being the 'nice and loving king', while still getting his murderous ways."

Alice looked at me oddly, her head tilted to the side in a very classical fashion. "I'm afraid I don't understand. Whatever do you mean?"

I sighed and tucked a strand of straying black hair behind my ear. "He beats me." This was the first time the words had even escaped my mouth.

It was so easy to talk to this girl, and I felt the urge to spill my heart into her tiny, waiting hands. It was a lot of work carrying the burden of being beaten _and_ knowing the entire kingdom feared you when you were truly as nice as could be.

"My hair? My skin? I don't look like this from screaming and raging all day- though that may be part of it, but I look like this because he beats me. He throws me into walls, pulls my hair. Apparently, I'm a worthless, scrawny bitch." I couldn't stop the tears from welling at that point. They came like tiny clinging hands, trying desperately to hold on as they slid down my cheeks until there was too much grief for them to keep hold. "He forces me to scream and kill, and look like the menace. He is the one who wants the terror done. Half of the condemned haven't even committed a crime."

All of this came out at once, and within seconds I was heaving deep sobs into the arms of little Alice. She rocked me slowly back and forth, promising me things like love and happiness, and cursing my husband for his wickedness. Never would I have thought that someone would really believe me, much less that someone would care enough to try and comfort me. Here was this girl that didn't even know me who was still trying to sooth me.

"My Queen, you really shouldn't stand for that kind of treatment…You have no reason to. What benefits should you gain from this? None."

Alice continued to talk to me like this while I sat and soaked in her words and basked in the freedom of my secret. The release of the secret had washed over me like night, and this blubbering fool I became was someone I never knew…but it felt wondrous. Through all of my tears and shaky breaths, I knew I was living in the happiest moment I'd had in a long time.

Eventually, I pulled myself together and drew myself away from her. I put on a small smile of gratitude and silently moved to fetch her a mug of strawberry tea. Even through my elation, I berated myself, for I knew I would never be able to return her kindness. I just could not work up the nerve to tell the poor girl she would soon be raped and killed. Yes, I could read his intentions even from the beginning. The disgusting pig only wanted her in bed with him. A human visitor was rare in Wonderland, and he took almost any that appeared into his bedroom. Moreover, not only was she human, but she was just breaching the late teenage years and had quite the beauty about her. These being the facts left little room for doubt that he wanted her.

By the time I returned with her tea, Alice had vanished. Taken, really. Already the clutches of villainy had taken her away. She was my only friend, gone and damned. Anger swelled suddenly through me at her absence and caused me to send the mug of tea flying into the decorated wall. The sudden commotion called guards to the scene, and I barked at them to clean up my mess. This was my first true surge of anger in a long while, and through it not even the garden seemed beautiful.

Much later, at dinnertime, my anger had reduced to a placid simmer. As always, I sat opposite of my husband with our stretched oak table setting a blessed ten feet between us. There was a blessed silence during that time, and I mentally prayed that he wouldn't speak to me over dinner. However, as was his nature, he King wasted no time addressing my newest faults.

"That girl today, Alice, she was very infuriating," he began.

"Was she?" I feigned innocence he best way I know how, but I came up short.

"Yes. She somehow got this whimsical idea that I was some raging monster in disguise. Called me all sorts of blasphemy, that little brat did."

"Oh, my!" I exclaimed, one hand flying to my mouth in a false horror.

"I wondered where she got the crazy idea from. She wouldn't tell me, of course, but it turned out all she needed was a little…_persuasion_."

I swallowed hard. He stared me down. _Shit_.

"You bitch!" he yelled.

He crossed those ten feet faster than I thought humanly possible for one of his size. In seconds, our dinner was scattered across the tile floor. Chairs were strewn, glasses broke, and some red wine stained my dress a crimson that led my thoughts to darker places. It turned out there would be no time for thoughts, however; he had my hair in his fist, pulling my head hard into the oak table. I gasped, and my hands reached to release the pain of his grip.

"Useless!" His voice danced manically through my ears, and spittle flung onto my cheek. Over and over again he drove my head into the table until blood sprouted and dripped. Not yet satisfied, he grabbed my arms and tore me from my chair and into the wall in one swift movement. I collided harshly and collapsed onto the floor with a blazing pain in my head and blood dripping into my eyes.

"You stupid whore! Speaking out of line- have you learned _nothing_?"

His voice raged with continuous barbaric comments while I tried to slink into myself and remain quiet, but even that was not good enough for him. A wine glass crashed above me head and I shrieked. One shard in a hundred cut into the flesh of my forearm, adding more pain into my increasing collection. Finally, he left, rage spent for the night. A lone nurse came in to fix me up and make me presentable again, though I remember none of that. All I remember is the anger that smoldered throughout my body and the revenge I slowly made the decision to take.

By the time midnight fell, I had myself convinced. Alice was right, I couldn't live like this any longer- and why should I? With my hands shaking and my heart threatening to burst from its cage, I gathered me belongings. I donned the garments that would allow me the freest movement, which were not very free at all considering the wardrobe of a queen. I gathered other essential items: fruit and bread from my untouched dinner, an assortment of jewelry and gold, some other mundane things, and a large styled bag to put it all in. My hair was released from its bundled prison, and I let it cascade in black waves down to the middle of my back. The most important objects I would retrieve came last, and they would be the ones to mark my rebellion and escape.

Out in the garden I set my things against the side of a fountain. The garden was much different to me at night. The blanket of night made it somehow more peaceful than the day, more welcoming. I managed to make my way over to one of the large sheds set up for the workers. Opening its unlocked doors, I found my treasure: a shiny red can of pain and am unused paintbrush.

The brush felt at home in my hand. Its surface felt cold and smooth like my actions. Silently, I made my way to the rose bushes with it. There, I slowly dipped the bristles into the dark liquid of the paint. I took a moment to admire the color as I drew it out, as it reminded me of all the blood he spilt, both of mine and the kingdoms. Then, with a grin as large as a Cheshire cat's, I painted the roses red.


End file.
